Let Me Call You Sweetheart
by iamtheletter13
Summary: It's not a dream. WalterxHenry, lime, PWP, non-con, yaoi.
1. I'm in Love with You

Let Me Call You Sweetheart

[[A/N: I was scared shitless when I was playing this game. I think anybody with an adrenal gland can agree with me when I say that it was a serious ordeal to get through, especially if they were stupid enough to take that freaking doll. I was… How do we conquer out fears? Psh, I don't know… Personally, I write porn over it, so here you go. WalterxHenry. Maybe I'll be able to get past the second forest level on my own now…]]

_Let me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with you._

_Let me hear you whisper that you love me too._

_Clank, krsht, clang, clang, chrshcrshcrsh, click._

_Don't let it get to you, Henry. This is just a dream._ The brunette thought to himself, wiping sweat from his brow and continuing down the hallway. He held a crowbar at the ready, frantic eyes darting to and fro in the low light. The gentle patter of his footsteps, sticky with grime, rang through his head, and he stopped dreadfully still when there was a growl behind him. He turned, baring his teeth, then swung the weapon in his hands as hard as he could.

There was a yelp, and the animal-like thing crumpled into a twitching heap on the floor, Henry smashing at its head over and over again until it was limp and bleeding and what he suspected was brain matter was strewn across the floor. His expression became stoic and he turned to the door behind him, trying the handle that he hoped was unlocked.

The minute the door clicked behind him, his muscles tensed, the light of his flashlight shining over the dirty expanse of wall before him. There was something making his vision shake, a sharp ringing in his ears, and he considered returning to the hallway, but there might have been some kind of useful weapon in this room. With a noiseless sigh, the shaking man continued towards whatever was making his head pound furiously.

"Henry." The voice was thick from disuse, the massive, powerful form taking up more space in the room than was possible.

He backed away, tense knuckles tightening around the crowbar, ready to strike. There was the revving of something mechanical and terrifying, but Henry couldn't pry his gaze away from striking green orbs. They were dead. If anything, they were emotionless, but something else lingered there, making everything seem so wrong.

Walter's feet began to move, and even though every nerve in Henry's body screamed for him to run, he was trapped. There was another rev of the chainsaw. A dark blue trench coat fluttered around the towering man's form, Henry's heart suddenly in his throat. He sputtered out something that would have been "stop" had it not sounded like incoherent rambling, and his feet finally obeyed him. He found his back against the door, the awkward angle of his tormentor's approach forcing him into a corner.

The brunette's headache became a roar of white noise, and he blinked slowly, grunting with displeasure at the closeness. He expected to smell human grime, something unpleasant and tangible on his tongue, but the only thing that hit his nose was blood. He had become accustomed to the scent that stung in the back of his mouth, seeing as it hung around everything in the Other Place, and even lingered in the hole in his wall. It was surprising, the lack of dirty, and he found himself inhaling deeply, trying desperately for something to prove that the stranger was a real person. Like that would have helped.

There was a whimper in the smaller male's throat, caught by tight lips, and he was groping along the door for the knob he knew was there _somewhere_. It disappeared when there was a loud rumble in his ear, every thought mixing into an incoherent scream for escape. He looked up from the spot on Walter's chest that he was boring into and at a face that was so intimidatingly smug it made him have to suck back a scream.

"No." _I don't want to die._

He expected for there to be pain ripping into his shoulder, the chainsaw not inches away from it, and he clamped his eyes shut. There was stillness, then silence, then it was as though the other man's presence had disappeared completely. Slowly, Henry pried his eyes open, seeing the same thing he had been staring at before, and a defeated expression washed over his tired features. Walter was still there, just stooped, face level with the Receiver.

Suddenly, there was a hand on Henry's jeans, the chainsaw clattering to the floor with the sound of metal against metal. The brunette beat against a broad chest, kicking with broken futility against a shin that made his foot ache at the impact. It was as though he was made of stone, tediously moving steel that pressed forward and trapped the male in the corner he had so foolishly backed himself into.

The fingers on Henry's groin rolled and he gasped aloud, trying to push away the other male. His mind was screaming "no", all of it trying to push the monster off of him, wanting to wash away the dirty feelings that flooded him at a particularly pleasant motion. There was another large hand working on the button to Henry's jeans, and the brunette wrapped both of his hands around the wrist of his attacker, yanking and tugging and pulling without even the hint of a reaction.

His shirt was disheveled, his pants wiggling from his body, his very blood betraying him and rushing to the place that Walter was pleasing much too quickly. The smaller man looked up from a chest clad in fading blue to a smug face that he loathed, squirming backwards and wishing he could melt into the wall. There was a hand slipping into his underwear, stroking with rough, grime-coated fingers.

The smaller man heard a choking noise and didn't realize it was him until he saw the tight line of the murderer's lips, incapable of making such a breathy sound. There was a large chest pressed against his own, the tickle of stubble on his neck, the pressure of a chin on his shoulder, and Henry was panting. His arms, tightly curled into his body, became sore with the pressure between them, tugging away from their restraining position to shove at broad shoulders.

"F-fuck, get off – hng…" There was a calloused thumb ghosting over the tip, and the brunette's entire body shook.

His heavy breath made matted yellow hair shift under his nose, the speed of his attacker's motions increasing, the ghosting of something stiff and unpleasant moving against his stomach. He found his hands balled into tight fists around rough-feeling fabric, his mouth gaping with pleasure, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He was close, knees buckling then becoming stiff to prevent him from falling on the floor with defeat.

"You were a good choice." He felt hot breath on his neck, the words not really directed at him, too hazy to decipher.

Henry bucked into the hand, gasping again and groaning. His eyes screwed shut as he tried to think of something to keep him from climaxing at the hands of a monster, realizing that he should have been trying that much sooner. Henry felt tightness in the pit of his stomach, the ghosting of teeth on a neck that was ultra-sensitive from the attention, and came against the murderer's coat.

The brunette faltered against the wall behind him, the pressure of a body leaving him as the monster pulled away. There was a smile on his face, barely perceived through tear-stained eyes and fading pleasure. The exposed parts of the smaller male's body were shocked with chill, and he immediately went to readjusting his clothing. When he looked up, he realized that Walter had left, as though he had never really been there, the only evidence the fact that his victim's knees were weak and shaking.


	2. Will I Be Ignored By the Lord?

Will I Be Ignored By the Lord?

[A/N: Well, I like this pairing. I really, really like this pairing. I can't believe that the interwebz isn't swimming in it. If you have a link to a good fic or picture, send it to me, 'cause I'm having a hard time finding it… Yeah, it's a Beck song. The last chapter was named (and based) after a song in a play I'm in. Forgive me for the choppiness of this thing; I'm high on exhaustion but this muse will not leave me alone. Gun kink, kinda sorta. I guess. Shit, stop asking me these difficult questions!]

_When I was born, Lots of people sayin' I looked like a dead man, but to them there was no kindness._

_And so I came into the world with my hands in my jacket, made a whole lotta racket._

There were six of them. They hovered in the air, moving around with smooth, fluttering motions, and Henry only had the strength to carry two Enchanted Swords, one of which was stabbed into the flaming parody of Jasper. He groaned and stumbled in the other direction, towards the pitch-black of the forest, Eileen limping after him.

When the brunette's head wasn't screeching, he fell to his knees, one of his hands folded over the revolver that always seemed to be in his grasp. He smiled down at it, a weak, fleeting smile, but the little weapon was refreshing somehow. He huffed, catching his breath before there was a gentle tension between his ears, and he looked behind him, expecting to see the crowd of ghosts he had run from.

To his surprise, there was nothing but thick darkness and Eileen, watching him with muted worry, and he furrowed his eyebrows at the growing pain, becoming stiff when there was the click of a gun in front of him. He slowly turned his head to see blood-drenched shoes, a sea of blue fabric, a smiling face dotted with red. Henry made a little noise in the back of his throat, grabbing a stronger hold of the firearm his fingers were wrapped around, but Walter stepped on his hand before he could use it.

The smaller male let out a pitiful sound, reaching around for the pipe he always kept with him, only to have cold metal pressed into his temple. There was sweat gathering at his brow, his heart in his throat, but he suppressed it to deny the murderer before him a taste of his fear. The awkward angle he was kneeling at allowed him a glimpse of Eileen, who was gaping with unbelievable terror at the towering man, and his insides protested at the look on her battered face.

"Run, Eileen." He said with his scratchy voice, managing to sound calm because he was too tired to be frightened by anything anymore.

She didn't question it. The ground squelched under her feet as she turned, Walter's smirk dropping as she limped away. Henry spun his gaze towards the murderer, ignoring the pain in his hand and the cold moisture seeping through his jeans to his knees. The green eyes, filled with smugness and a hard kind of rage, were locked on the slowly retreating woman, the muzzle of the gun leaving Henry's forehead to train on Eileen.

"Walter…" The brunette tried, and the murderer snapped his attention down again, foot pressing more painfully on the hand trapped under it.

"Yes?" He asked with the kind of childishness that he hadn't been able to cast off, something akin to joy etched between what Henry had assumed was an attempt at sultriness. Eileen's unsteady footsteps were fading.

When the smaller man didn't answer, Walter seemed to lose interest, and the gun that had been hanging at his side returned to its previous position, pointing at the injured woman. There were weak fingers wrapped around the pipe, and it was solid, unmoving, the embodiment of safety. He struck at the leg in front of him, and he heard a grunt, the monster staggering backwards.

Immediately, Henry pivoted in the other direction, scrambling towards Eileen, gun in one hand, pipe in the other. The ground was slick with mud, and his hands could barely manage a hold on it. He hadn't gotten more than three feet when Walter stepped onto the small of his back, the crushing weight forcing his entire front into the dirt.

"Don't leave." The taller man said with badly-faked sadness in his tone. It was unnerving.

"Let me go, Walter." Henry spat at the ground, eying the gun that was useless to him at that angle.

Walter's own gun was against the back of his neck and the pressure on his back increased, making him pant for breath. There were fingers in his hair, the touch brushing against his scalp. He didn't remember Walter being so cold. He was ice, not even the clammy, human kind of chill, and it made the brunette retch between his desperate gasps.

"I don't want you to leave. You always leave." He sounded like a scorned toddler.

Henry wanted to let out a string of vulgar protests, to struggle against him, to see his face beaten in. It probably wasn't healthy that the thought of his torturer bleeding out onto the soggy ground made something in the pit of his stomach tighten, but he didn't care. It wasn't as though anybody expected for him to have a healthy reaction; after all, he was being held down by a murderer who had stabbed himself in the throat oh-so-long ago.

"Please let me go." The weight on his back slackened, and he sucked in a thankful breath. He couldn't even hear Eileen, which meant that she was either safe or dead. Either of those results was better than being with Walter.

There was a blood-encrusted shoe jabbing into Henry's side, and he was flipped onto his back, immediately aiming the gun at his attacker's head. There was a standoff, two different fingers on two different triggers, Walter grinning at the teeth Henry was showing. The monster's stare was just as cold as his hand had been.

"Your eyes are so pretty." It wasn't a compliment, really, just an expression of appreciation of the un-person he was staring back at. The thought was accompanied by a vision of what Henry would look like with void little holes in their place.

Henry squeezed the trigger. It gave out under his touch with a hint of anxious joy. He had been holding off for so long and the itch between his shoulder blades faded. The bullet flew from his revolver, towards the face that Henry hated more than anything, whizzing right by his head. He missed. If he hadn't known better, he would have fought his logical mind, saying that he hadn't really missed, that Walter had moved just an inch, faded in and out of reality as the lead cylinder should have been smearing his brains over the forest behind him.

"My turn." The murderer said with a grin, and the gun was shoved into Henry's gaping mouth.

There wasn't enough time to even register his motions, usually tedious and meticulous, but Walter was straddling the smaller male's chest in moments. The hand with the revolver was pinned against the mud under him, the pipe useless when even the slightest movement would result in a bullet tearing through his head.

Walter's weapon pushed back far enough to make Henry gag, and he was squirming unhappily, the monster prying at the tight fingers around his weapon. The gun pulled out of the brunette's mouth, then shoved in again, a weak tongue pushing then yanking away from the sharp flavor that hinted of blood.

"Let go." Walter purred with a sick, toothy smile, and Henry's grip around his gun tightened.

With a scowl, the large male pushed his hand forward, the trigger cover shoving against Henry's bottom lip. It pressed against the back of his mouth, resulting in another gag, then went further, into his throat, the brunette jerking with protest. There were tears welling up in his eyes, his air supply blocked by the metal, the unbelievably uncomfortable feeling of something nestled in the tight heat making his stomach wrench.

"Let go~" This time, it was more sing-song than lurid.

Henry faltered. His fingers released the revolver, and it was immediately wrenched out of his grasp, pattering somewhere in the distance with the rustle of leaves. The gun pulled out of his throat, the brunette's teeth scraping along it as it retreated, relieved. He sucked in air greedily, averting his gaze from the victorious grin that made his skin crawl.

"There you go." Walter said, sounding just as relieved as Henry felt. He wished he would just kill him.

The brunette wanted to say something smug that would have made Walter's grin fall, but the gun was taking up too much space in his mouth, reminding him of something phallic. He brushed the thought away; it was just a threatening way to get him to submit. It had to be; the sick fuck above him wasn't the kind of murderer who took pleasure in that sort of thing. Henry repeated it in his head even though he knew it wasn't true.

"Your eyes…" The blonde said dreamily, brushing his dirty fingers over Henry's face, landing on his then-closed eyelid. The smaller male grunted in protest around the weapon in his mouth.

Walter shifted so that he was supported by his knees and one hand that was planted firmly on the ground beside his captive's head. His hips were hovering over Henry's, his blue coat bundled around his waist. His tan pants, grime on the cuffs and dotted with blood, wrinkled and creaked as he ground on the writing brunette.

Henry was hard. He didn't remember anything arousing him, other than the thought of brutally mutilating the man over him, groaning aloud when another flash of gore spread over his closed eyes in unison with a thrust. The friction was beautiful, and if he kept his eyes closed he could almost imagine someone else moving against him.

Cynthia, with her thick, black hair fluttering around her pretty face. Eileen in her party dress, hiked above her thighs, both eyes intact like he had seen through the hole in his wall. Walter – no. He was evil. He was a monster. He was moving faster. _Shit._

Henry was tugging on the blue trench coat above him, rutting into the rotations of the murderer's hips, arching his back in the filth under him. He let his arms hang lazily from Walter's coat, not fighting as hard against the pleasure as he had before, the gun pushing gently in-and-out of his mouth. Because it was there, his teeth dug into the cold steel and his tongue flicked against the terrible taste that made him throb.

The gun pulled away and a trail of thirst-sticky saliva followed it. Walter saw it, evidence of how he had been worshiping it with his mouth, then a grin crossed over his intimidating features. He stopped grinding, but Henry refused to feel shame, thrusting against the monster above him and panting quickly.

"Do you like the gun?" Walter purred, and Henry looked into the forest.

"Would you like it better somewhere else?" The brunette shook his head fervently, the motions of his hips stilling with the connotation of his captor's words.

The monster shoved the weapon into Henry's face again, and - relieved that he wasn't continuing on with his previous idea - he willingly opened his mouth, letting the weapon in again. It was welcomed with something akin to joy, and he didn't understand why it made him throb, why he bucked against the returning friction, why he was oh-so-close.

Groaning, the smaller male arched a bit more off of the ground, unconsciously driving the weapon further into his mouth and grabbing at Walter's thighs. He twitched and shoved his head into the dirt under him, eyes slamming shut, rutting furiously against the pelvis above his own. He lapsed and plopped onto his back, breathing raggedly through his nose as the gun was removed and Walter stood.

Henry would have fallen asleep in the mud, in the middle of the forest, but his gun had been tossed away, Eileen was God-knows-where, and he would be surrounded by ghosts any second. The orgasm did nothing for his exhaustion.


End file.
